#we really want a jim hutton | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

natromanxoff · 4 years

Text

I wasn’t sure about posting this at first but as it is already shared publicly and I have come across with it on Pinterest, I decided that it would be okay. So here is a story of a fan about Jim Hutton:

“ON 23rd of March, there was a Queen Tribute band concert in Goresbridge and my boyfriend told me that Jim would come as well. He admitted that he had arranged with Stephen for Jim to come along. The concert was in the pub called The Spirit Store. What a great name for spiritual meeting, I thought. When I entered, Jim sat at the table with Stephen, Jascqueline, her sister Valeria and other family friends. There was nowhere to sit, so we just stood by the table for a while. When I looked at Jim, he appeared somewhat fragile and tiny, like a man who could easily be overlooked. He didn´t look anything like those photos portraying him in the books.

After a while, there was a free seat by the table and everyone, including Jim, moved in order for us to sit down. It was just one place and my friend Mike wanted to take it. He got up fast but they all stopped him. Jim measured Mike up and down and told him, "Perhaps you should let the lady sit here, you cavalier!" Embarassed, Mike got up from his chair and offered it to me. I got the honorable place alongside Jim. Being a woman sometimes has its advantages! Jim welcomed me with heartfelt "Hi". At first I was nervous, but after a while I felt relaxed and enjoyed Jim's company. I was aware of his behavior, gestures, laughter, and tried to absorb his energy all at once. It was easy to talk to him about anything and everything.

I wanted to know the man Freddie loved so much, so I guess I started giving him many questions.

"Jim, are you still in touch with Phoebe?" Jim looked at me closely and began to talk to me with interest. "I haven´t really been talking to him for a long time. I know he had a hotel in Dubai, then he sold it, and he's in Prague now. He also bought something overthere and I think he's going to settle down there." When I heard about Prague, I jumped up excitedly and told him that I was from there. He smiled a little, though the coincidence like this didn´t overwhelm him as much as me.

He relished glass of Budwaiser and smoked Ultra light Silk Cuts. He offered me one and lit it up for me like a real gentleman. It seemed he wanted to continue talking. We both made fun of the ultralight effect of his cigarettes, which would probably piss off every orthodox smoker, Freddie for sure! He then demonstrated jokingly, how to properly smoke them. He inhaled all the smoke by sucking in his cheeks and widening his eyes, as if he should soon burst like an inflated toad. None of us resisted and we both burst into a mad laughter. I told him about my visit to Munich and meeting Barbara. He smiled and listened, then he rolled his eyes up to heaven and stated that she is one hell of a crazy woman. I totally agreed, and added, that also alcoholic one. It was surreal to talk about mutual aquaintances together, people we both knew. I also mentioned my visit to New York club and I could see how he returns nostalgically into his memories. Then I also tried to make him remember my friend Allison, who told me about him in the first place.

"About nine years ago she visited you in London". He couldn´t remember and admitted, that since then a lot of people have passed through his life and many of them he never saw again.

I continued. "She showed me several of your photos and in one of them you were holding Freddie's portrait that you bought at the auction". Suddenly he jumped up and said he knew whom I mean.

I showed him my miniature box containing a stone and talked about it with almost patriotic pride. "It's a stone from Logan Mews that I had to dig out from under the threshold of his house, because there was nothing else to take." Jim laughed out loud, this time without any hindrance and doubt that I was totally crazy. I also laughed because I knew I sound like nuts. He remarked with smile from ear to ear that I was pretty crazy. "Yeah, I'm crazy, and I'm proud to be. Who isn´t...and by the way.....why not?" I smiled at what I just said, because that´s what Freddie would say, to defend himself. Jim then talked about the medallion that Freddie had given him for his birthday. He said, there were three miniature pictures inside. "The first is that of Miko ", he said gently, looking up at me to make sure I knew who he was talking about. "In the other one is Freddie" ... he continued with kind of fervor and love. Something deep inside me shivered. "In the third one," ... he didn´t answer yet, when I jumped into his monologue ...."Tiffany," I blurted out.

"My mom's photo," he finished his sentence. (and I prayed he didn´t register my answer).

It was nice to hear him remembering like that. He opened up in front of me the way I never dreamt of. I think it was nice for him to share these beautiful moments and to talk about things that meant so much to him. "This rock is my good luck charm. I have been listening to Queen since I´m twelve and I also work in the Fan Club's office. We celebrate his anniversary every year. When I went here, I was kidding with my friends that I might meet Jim Hutton in Ireland... and here you are, sitting right next to me. That´s my dream come true", I said all emotional.

"How do you know Stephen?", he inquired after while.

"I go out with Vinnie and they are good friends" He eyed my boyfriend and indicated that he knew who he was.

"I was annoying the two of them and was constantly asking them to bring you", I smiled.

"Oh, Jacqueline wanted me to come, alright" Jim smiled at the thought. Then he talked about the music talent competition, in which they were selecting the best imitators of Queen.

"What music are you actually listening to?" I wondered.

"I have no favorite, I'm listening to almost everything. Even a radio".

"And do you still have Zig and Zag?"

He only sighed and said in a sad voice that they had both died since then.

"And do you have any other cats?"

"Yeah, I have seven others now," Jim smiled. This number didn´t surprise me. The old habits are hard to kill.

"Do you still keep up the gardening, Jim?"

"Constantly," he said with a loving smile and amusedly showed me his hands dirty from the clay and covered in sores. For God's sake, he must have been gardening a few minutes before going to a concert!, I thought to myself. A complete garden maniac.....

We were joking on the account of the band that was supposed to start playing long time ago, but somehow did not. He told me it would be nice to get drunk, so we didn´t know how terrible they were. That really made me crack up. He could be so funny.

He joked and emphasized to everyone around the table, that instead of a concert he could have been at home watching his favorite movie. In the same breath, he admitted that he was curious about their performance and that he hadn´t been out in ages.

He leaned over to me and confessed, that now he lived a life completely cut off from the rest of the world.

"We are basically the same, I am basically like him. Now I just enjoy loneliness and privacy. I don´t go out anywhere except my garden". I immediately knew whom he was referring to in his speech.

I said that I had discovered his house in Palatine and apologized when I saw his slightly concerned look. I said I was just little curious.

He then recalled a few of his encounters with the fans. One day there was an unknown car with a couple of strangers that arrived to his house. They came all way from Vienna and they found him by questioning people in a town! Not a hard thing to trace him, he said, as every cab driver in the area knows him pretty well. One local newspaper even published a photo of his house, and although they gave a wrong address, a lot of people had found him.

That made me laugh, because I knew what it means to be a devoted fan.

"On the other hand, it's nice to know that someone is constantly looking after you and giving you the feeling that all this is still alive," I added with a smile.

"Jim, do you still have your Volvo?"

"You mean the one that Freddie gave me?.....No, I don´t have it few years now, I´ve swapped it for a new one," he smiled.

He was all too gallant all the time, always lighting my cigarette.

He also wondered how long I would stay in Ireland, so I said that only another half a year.

"And you wanna come back here?" He asked suddenly.

"Oh, I'd love to. I'm trying to find a job either in Carlow or Kilkenny," I said enthusiastically.

Then I fell silent, looked at him and assured him "Definitely."

Each time he looked up into my eyes, I saw an incredibly nice person in front of me. Something in his silent expression suggested that he had suffered great deal of pain in life, but that he was now completely reconciled with his fate. Still, in his eyes shone a spark of unrelenting humor. In his company I forgot all about the world. I was happy to be able to make such an affluent and warm contact with him. The longer we knew each other, the closer we were.

When he wanted to go to the toilet, Stephen told him that the men's toilets were behind the bar and the ladies in front of the bar. It sounded like he wasn´t quite sure which one would Jim prefer.

But Jim didn´t care much and set off to the men's. I admit it made me laugh a little.

Then we continued our dialogue. I mentioned that I read both his and Phoebe's book, but that I couldn´t find his book anywhere in the stores. He confirmed that it´s out of print at the minute.

When I told him that I had stolen his book at the local library, he laughed and said that I should have asked him and he would have given me a copy, but he only had Italian version.

Finally, the band started to play. Everyone in the pub stood up and whole lot of us - as we were tucked in at the back, climbed onto the window ledges. I stood next to Jim, who remained seated.

He looked a little bit run over. I knew he was surrounded by the loneliness and I watched him with sadness. I lacked much power or words to comfort him. It was only after some wonderful songs that we both joined and got up. He could not remain sad in such a loving and friendly company for ever.

When he noticed the enormous, life-vibrant energy that only Queen music could produce in conjunction with a crowd of people singing, I think he forgot his personal pain. I could see pride in his face. He stood up and watched the band. Then he addressed me and made me come up onto the ledge above him to see better. I would not listen to anybody else, but from him it didn´t sound like an order. He wanted me to get the most out of it and it pleased me. Then we sat back and drank. Jim seemed to be getting cheerful and livelier. The more he drank, the more cheerful he was. The guys ordered him Red Bull with vodka. When I asked him if it was vodka, he claimed it was white lemonade! He put a warm glass of "vodka" on my hand, so I almost jumped out of my skin, which he thought was terribly funny.

Whatever he did, he looked at me as though I was the only person who knew what was behind his looks. His faces and funny grimaces reminded me of Freddie. He had a lot of subconsciously inherited poses and gestures from him. Even in his laughter I could detect an influence of Freddie's strong personality. He simply marked all people around him. It was not the same contagious and stormy laugh, but there was a spark of resemblance.

His niece Jacqueline, Valerie and Stephen, danced all the time on the ledge and Jim was pulling them and wrapping himself in between their legs, hugging them, clinging to them, and messing around like a little boy. It was a wonderful sight, as he was so happy and childish.

After some time, Jim lost himself in a crowd of concert goers, so I went to look for him. Without his company it felt such a sad place. It was as if he had fallen through the ground, which made me very nervous. Finally, I found him by the entrance table, where he was joking away with one old blonde, not too different from frivolous Barbara Valentin. I asked him for a photo together. At first he looked impenetrable but as soon as I threw a sad eye and smirked, he brightened up and agreed as if saying "You know you can, anything for you, darling"

His niece Valerie took our picture. He then whispered to me that he hopes I´ll send him some pictures later.

After that he announced that we are going back inside to listen to the band.

I saw them from close-up and I must say that it was much better to just hear them. They looked rather too comic with all their wigs. It was something that would make Freddie laugh too.

I told Jim that they don´t look very natural,which he agreed with, but he said he couldn´t complain about their music. He was totally right, because musically they weren´t bad and the singer had a very authentic voice.

Inside, everybody was dancing and Jim joined in and circled around them like a rogalo.

The whole pub vibrated with intense and loving energy. There was no one who would be bored. Jim then threw himself in the arms of his two nieces, who gently caressed him in his hair and embraced him. He let them take care of him, now vulnerable like a little lost child all of a sudden.

There was something deeply touching about it. He had closed his eyes and sadly lowered his head, as if his tears flowed deep inside, in his invisible world. I realized at this stage, how much he really loved Freddie. I was looking at him and I had a desire to caress him and comfort him but instead, I had to stand aside.

"You can have everything and yet feel alone", Freddie once said. But I was glad Jim had his family and friends around him, who cared and protected him. Jim was going through sorrow and joy,both at the same time, it seemed.

During one of his many shananigans, I caught him messing around with his niece's boyfriend.

He sat him on his knees and imitated sexual intercourse. It would seem offensive and utterly crazy to someone who didn´t know him. But we all did. Jim was laughing like crazy and when he finally looked at me, he seemed a little embarrassed by his behavior and gave me a look that said"I hope you won´t tell on me to Freddie"...but it was hard to take him seriously.

We both smiled conspiratorially at each other. In that sense, our relationship no matter how short-lived, was special. We understood one another in thoughts. He winked at me a couple of times, tapping my beer like an old buddy.

In one moment in particular, Jim leaned over me and whispered: "You as a fan have right to be crazy, but them" ... pointing at our dancing group of friends ... " they are fucked up", he said with smile and he began to knock his finger against his forehead. An international gesture that doesn´t need an interpreter!

Jim then went to the toilets for a while, and I, like a stray sheep, followed him through crowds of oblivious dancers. He was somewhat drunk at that time and barely retained a balance. He staggered a little like a broken tree. No surprise after god knows how many Red bulls and vodkas! I was bit afraid for him, so I supported him inconspicuously by both shoulders from behind. He went to the toilet and cared too little to even close the door behind him. If anyone was looking, he would see Jim Hutton pissing in a toilet bowl in his bright canary shirt.

At that moment they played the most touching song of all, These are the Days of our lives .... I stood by the door and listened, watching the band and waited for Jim. I don´t know why, perhaps because of the fate that brought me here, I suddenly felt terrible sorrow. I was sorry for Freddie and Jim. Tears poured into my eyes. I didn´t cry, but was very close to it. Jim suddenly appeared next to me and noticed my face. "What about those tears? I hope you don´t cry", but at this stage I was lost for words. His concern made me sad even more. Something inside me forced me to caress him. I hugged him gently around his neck and put my head on his shoulder for a moment. I wanted to let him know that I am very sorry about what happened to Freddie. He did not resist. He knew he wasn´t the only one in the world who was missing him. I looked into his eyes, and I told him a sentence that I didn´t know why I said, but I strongly felt it..."Jim, he's here, he IS here." His expression was rather confused at first. "Do you believe me?" ... I said this with a seriousness and a certain degree of self-assurance that he froze for a while. He looked thoughtful. He knew what I was talking about.

I seemed to only confirm his inner conviction. He didn´t say a word. He wiped my tear away with the edge of his hand and without warning, took me firmly by the hand and led me through crowds back to our friends. There was a lot of care and love in his touch. The music was just playing and Freddie just sang "I still love you" and I knew he did.

I didn´t want to leave, but I knew I said everything I needed to. I could not leave without saying goodbye. It would be a sin after all this to just disappear into eternity. I interrupted him from the conversation with someone else, leaned over the table and said, "Jim, I'm leaving now, so I want to say goodbye, it was great pleasure meeting you." I smiled as much as my heart allowed me to and shook his hand. He stared up and thought for a moment, and then, without any hesitance said, "We do not see each other for the last time." I didn´t know at this time how true his words were.

I thought I did not understand well, so I asked again, "sorry?" and he repeated patiently and more resolutely, "I shall surely see you again," while taking my hand into his hands and kissing it gently.

He left me in amazement. I stumbled out from there perplexed but still I could hear him talking about me to someone there. He probably said he hadn´t seen a bigger nutcase in a long time, assuming from his cute teddybear smile. Gosh I loved him so much!

The next day I learned from my friends that Jim was looking next morning for his jacket that he had forgotten in his car. Few days later, I've sent him the promised photographs. Jacquie confirmed that he called in to say he had received them allright.”

2001

“...And then I returned back to Ireland in 2004.

I had the opportunity to welcome Jim to my own home in Carlow sometime in 2006. He was Stephen´s surprise. When the door opened up, I didn´t see him at first.

Then his head popped out from the side of the door and with a laugh he emerged a bit later. He hugged me like we hadn´t seen each other for million years. What I felt at that moment was indescripable. My dear Jim back in my life and in my own house!

We all sat in the living room, Jim settled down on the sofa, I was sitting on the ground and absorbed the precious moments because I knew time spent with him was only borrowed time. Then we watched Queen videos and talked about Freddie as if he were in the next room. It was so surreal. Me and Jim agreed that our favorite video was Scandal, and he just added that Freddie didn´t like it very much because he couldn´t make any creative input in it, although he loved the song.

Then we talked about his illness, about him taking up to 40 pills a day to sustain his health and he also explained the difference between AIDS and HIV, as many people still didn´t know. We have talked so much and - above all - we laughed all night, almost at everything. It was so easy to succumb to his funny personality once again and to his heartfelt laughter. He made jokes about fancying my ex-boyfriend, whom he lied on top of on the sofa. Long time ago, I´ve sent him a letter explaining to him how Freddie has impacted my life. But I've forgotten I´ve ever written it and now I was faced with the horror that I actually have sent it. I hoped he has forgotten about it, but when Jim and I met in the corridor of our house, I couldn´t but apologize to him for that letter, and for being so daring. To my surprise, he looked at me softly with his tired eyes and assured me that my letter was absolutely fascinating. Then we were interrupted by Stephen, who was just leaving a toilet and the conversation was cut short at that point. Unfortunatelly I would never have the chance to find out what was the next thing he was about to say, because I noticed he wanted to continue, if he weren´t interrupted.

When we were saying goodbye at the door, he treated me as an old friend. He simply kissed me on the lips, which utterly shocked me and made me laugh at the same time.

He invited us back to his house to have a little party, but my ex-boyfriend was not in the perfect mood and so we politely declined, which I will forever regret!

About a year after that I bumped into Jim several times in the city where we both lived, or we exchanged text messages whenever I needed to advise what room flowers would be best for our new house. Sometimes I learnt about how he´s doing through my ex-boyfriend, who used to hang out with him and drink few pints in a night bar. Once my ex confessed how Jim told him that I was a great person and he should be happy to have me. They must have been talking about me!!!!

Then I met Jim one night in the nightclub, where he was with his friends. He spent most of his time sitting in the lounge smoking a cigarette, having fun with younger girls. Wherever he was, you heard his laughter. That night my ex-boyfriend arranged for Jim and me to have a dance together.

Jim was just dancing on the dancefloor with some older woman. I remember he had his jumper tied around his waist. I just got onto the dancefloor, he looked at me all serious and pulled me close to him. It was some tediously slow song that I can´t even remember, I just know that we were staggering from side to side like two handiccaped penguins and that made me laugh hysterically.

He was such a clown! Now, however, I consider this moment as one of the most precious memories of him. It was my night.

Back in 2009, I have learned that Jim was diagnosed with cancer. My ex-boyfriend told me how concerned Jim was when informing him. He said, he wept. At that time I didn´t know how serious the situation was and I hoped Jim will get better in no time. I believed the doctors would somehow help him out of it. I saw him a little later at work when he came to our restaurant for breakfast.

I almost served him as another customer, but when I realized it was him, I pulled myself back into the kitchen and let the other girls serve him. He never noticed. I was in such state of shock. I didn´t know what to do, how to act and what to say. He was so thin, just skin and bone. His face was sinking, his eyes full of pain, a small tube leading from his nose to the oxygen device he carried in his backpack and a small canvas hat on his head. I couldn´t believe this was Jim, whom I have remembered being so full of life and joy only half a year ago. I wanted to cry like never before. I also felt embarassed by my own cowardly reaction. I wished more than anything in my life to hug him and say I loved him. I wanted to wish him a happy Christmas. But I was scared of my own tears, which would not help him in his situation.

I wrote him a message on the phone, but he didn´t respond. And then I got the terrible news. Jim died and somehow I also missed his funeral. I took a first taxi and went at least to his months Mass and visited his grave, bringing him daffodils and little white lantern with candle. It was so hard for me. His relatives stood above his grave. I said my prayers in a minute of silence. The air didn´t move and the moon was full in the night sky. It was dark and cold all around but I didn´t care.

I wanted to see him laugh and mess around like he used to. It was as if another star had disappeared and fell to the earth. If only life could last forever.”

2006-2010

Credits to Seraphiel’s blog. Please don’t repost without credits.

#jim hutton

71 notes · View notes

assembledherethevolunteers · 4 years

Text

Request 3

A/N: Well hi, everybody! I got this request just about a month ago from the amazing @phantoms-lynn! She said her birthday was coming up and I’m not sure if this is late or not, but I hope you had/have a great birthday and thank you for the request! I hope you all enjoy some birthdays!

Pairing: Freddie Mercury x Jim Hutton w/ daughter!reader

Summary: Some snapshots of your birthdays with your Papa (Freddie) and Dad (Jim)

Warnings: None really, fluff, suggested underage drinking

Taglist: @queenlover05 @theblossomknows (if you’d like to be added let me know!)

You opened your eyes, slowly, giving yourself time to wake up. Even though you hadn’t been sleeping that much. You were too excited. You were more excited for this day than Christmas.

Because this day was just about you. And maybe that was selfish, and you knew that was wrong, but it was one of the few days that Papa took the whole day off and Daddy made your favorite foods for all three meals.

You saw that the sun was starting to come up but you know that you should wait until one of your fathers came and got you.

You laid in bed for a while until you couldn’t wait anymore (which in all honesty was maybe fifteen minutes). You got up and tried to sneak into your fathers’ rooms as quietly as possible. You saw both of them, still asleep. You walked over to their bed and stood there for a moment before your Dad woke up.

“Y/N, what are you doing in here?”

“I got excited and couldn’t sleep,” you whispered to him.

He smiled at you and then sat up. “Well, I think it’s still a bit early for breakfast, so why don’t you come snuggle with me and Papa?”

You smiled and climbed into bed and actually fell back asleep for a little while. Until…

“Jim, dear, it seems we have a rather large bed bug.”

“We do, but it was cute, so I decided we should keep it.”

You giggled as your fathers turned over and started to cuddle with you, even though they talked over your head.

“Well, I supposed I agree with you. She is very cute,” your papa pulled you close and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I also think this might be a very special day for her, so I don’t think we should kick her out of bed. What do you think?”

“We don’t want to be rude hosts.”

You felt your dad kiss the very top of your head.

“How old are you now, little bed bug?” Your papa asked.

“Eight!”

“Eight? That can’t be right. I’m not old enough to have an eight-year-old bed bug.”

You wanted to keep the game up, but your stomach gave a growl.

“Daddy, can we have pancakes?”

Your dad told you that you could and the three of you got out of bed and down to the kitchen.

“Alright, Lovie, why don’t you help Dad and I’ll supervise,” your papa gave you a wide smile.

You liked his smile. You don’t know why he didn’t.

“Freddie, you wouldn’t know how to supervise a kitchen if your life depended on it.”

You laughed at your papa when he stuck his tongue out at your dad’s back when he grabbed the eggs from the refrigerator.

The three (okay, really two) of you got to work on the pancakes. You always loved cooking in the kitchen with your dad, and sometimes, like today, your papa would make up little songs as you did so.

“’And she mixed and she mixed in her little bowl. Making sure there was enough to make them full.’ You know, Romeo, I think I’m on to something,” your papa hummed to the cat.

You and your dad made breakfast, complete with pancakes, and then the three of you ate it together.

“So, what do you want to do for your birthday?”

“Can we go to the park? And then maybe we can get some ice cream!” You started bouncing up and down in your seat. There was a stand not far from the park that had the best ice cream.

“Well, that seems reasonable. But first,” your papa looked at your dad. “Jim, don’t you think we should do presents?”

The rest of the day was spent with your fathers. They took you to the park and even stopped for ice cream. The sun was starting to set when you were on your way home. You were pulling into the driveway at home, eating your ice cream, when you noticed that there were a lot of cars in the driveway.

“Why are all these cars here?”

You noticed your fathers smile at each other, but neither of them answered you. You were about to ask again when you saw balloons tied to the front of your door.

“Daddy? Papa?”

“Come on, Lovie, let’s get you inside.”

The three of you made your way to the front door. Your papa opened the front door and a shout of “SURPRISE!” made you jump.

Standing in the front room were your uncles, aunts, and grandparents. You gasped and ran right to your grandparents.

“Grandma! Grandpa! I’ve missed you!”

“Oh, we’ve missed you too, my darling,” your Grandma mumbled into your hair before pressing kisses all over the top of your head.

“Auntie Kash!”

Your aunt scooped you up in her arms and squeezed you tight.

“Happy birthday, you gorgeous girl.”

“Thank you!”

She let you down and you then ran to your uncles (that weren’t ACTUALLY your uncles, but you called them that anyway).

“Well hello there!” Your Uncle John picked you up and hugged you tight before spinning around with you, making you laugh. “Happy birthday, beautiful,” He gave you a kiss on the side of your head.

“Thank you, Uncle John,” you gave him a kiss on the cheek.

You gave similar greetings to your Uncle Brian and Uncle Roger before one of your cousins came up and the two of you ran off to play.

You got all kinds of presents, including a guitar from your Uncle Brian that was a smaller version of his Red Special. Your grandmother had baked your favorite cake. Your papa and uncles sang your favorite song of theirs.

That night, you started to drift off in your Uncle Roger’s lap. You heard your dad ask if you were ready to go to sleep. You shook your head, but the next thing you remembered, you were being tucked in.

“But Daaaaaddy,” you muttered at him halfheartedly.

“Sh, Princess, you need your rest.”

You hummed in protest, but were now too tired to actually argue. You felt your dad kiss you one more time before you finally succumbed to sleep.

It was one of your favorite birthdays so far.

Nine Years Later

“HAAAAAAPPY BIIIIIIIRTHDAY, DEAR Y/N!”

Your eyes cracked open to see your dad and papa holding a cupcake with a candle. You smiled, but still brought the blanket up to cover your head.

“Daaaaaad, Paaaaaaapa, it’s too early,” you whined at them.

“’Too early’? It’s nearly noon!” Your papa’s voice was nearly offended, as if sleeping so late was the worst thing you could’ve done. “And you call me dramatic.”

“You’re both dramatic,” your dad’s voice responded. You could hear the smile and the shake of his head.

“Blame my up bringing,” you said, still under the blanket.

“Oh gladly,” your dad replied. Your papa squeaked, but your dad kept talking. “But, you really do need to get up because your grandparents will be here for lunch in about an hour.”

You hummed, letting him know that you’d heard him.

“And if you don’t get up for that, we won’t have your party tonight, so those are your options,” your dad proclaimed nonchalantly before you heard him leave.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have your party,” you heard your papa whisper. “But you really do need to get up otherwise your dad will come back in here and yell. And you know he gets scary when he yells.”

You laughed to yourself because you’re pretty sure the last time you heard your dad yell it had been because one of the cats got out the front door.

You finally sat up and pulled the blanket away from your head, your papa still standing near your bed with the candle.

“Make a wish, Lovie.”

Later that night, you were getting ready for your party in your attached bathroom.

It was going to just be you and your friends. Your fathers were going to go out and not be home until one, which you were a little surprised about. They’d let you have parties before, sure, but they usually only gave you a couple hours.

You were especially excited because there was a guy from your French class, Tyler, that was invited. The two of you had been paired up for a little skit you had to preform for the class and since then the two of you had flirted every chance you got. You hoped tonight would be the push the two of you needed to take it a step further.

There was a knock at your bedroom door.

“Yes?” You called out.

“Y/N?”

You poked your head out and smiled at your fathers. They were dressed to go out, probably waiting on a car that was going to take them into the city.

“Well don’t you two look handsome?”

“Don’t we always?” Your papa spun around, giving you a grand bow when he faced you again.

“Of course you do.”

“Y/N, we’re about to get going so, do we need to go over the rules again?”

You were going to shake your head until you saw the look in your dad’s eye, meaning it wasn’t a suggestion.

“No drinking, nobody is to spend the night unless you’ve already approved of them, no drinking, no touching the good records, and…what’s the last one?” You joked.

“No. Drinking.”

So, Dad clearly wasn’t in the mood tonight.

“Jim, dear, I think she gets it,” your papa sent you a wink. “Besides, I’m fairly sure that Phoebe and I finished all the alcohol in the house ages ago.”

Your dad humphed, but didn’t look at your papa, just you.

“Y/N, I’m serious. We can’t let underage people drink here.”

You nodded, knowing how serious it could be if it got out that minors were being given alcohol at Freddie Mercury’s house, whether he was home or not.

“I know, Dad.”

Your dad and papa exchanged looks before they pulled pulled you into a hug.

“We know you do, Princess,” your dad kissed the top of your head. “Just make sure your friends do too.”

“Y/N,” your best friend hissed at you.

You were in the kitchen, refilling one of the bowls of food about two hours after your fathers had left and the party was in full swing. One of your friends was in charge of the music and had been doing a great job. You were pretty sure that everybody was having a good time.

“Hm?” You didn’t look at her, making sure you didn’t over fill the bowl.

“Tyler is looking for you!” She grabbed your arm and shook it, trying to make you realize what she was really saying.

It almost made you drop the bag.

“R…really? He’s looking for me?”

She nodded, her eyes widened to emphasize her point.

You put the bag down and straightened your outfit.

“How do I look?”

Your friend looked you over and then dug into her pocket, producing a tube of lip gloss.

You took it and swiped it on, popping your lips before looking at your friend again. “Good?”

She nodded before leading you back to the living room where the makeshift dance floor was. She pulled you until you were almost next to Tyler, but didn’t want to interrupt him since he looked in the middle of a conversation. Until he turned around.

“Hey! There’s the birthday girl,” Tyler smiled at you.

It made your heart melt.

“Hi, Tyler.”

“This is a great party,” he glanced around, before his eyes landed on you again. “Just wish I had some more time with…”

There was a sudden shift in the music. The songs most of the night had been fast and upbeat, keeping the party atmosphere. This song, however, was slow.

You and Tyler stared at each other for the opening bars.

“Y/N, would you like to dance?”

Inside, you were squealing. It made the butterflies in your stomach flip and twitch. All you could do is nod.

Tyler took you by the hand and got you closer to the small “dance floor”. He wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped yours around his neck. He pulled you closer and flashed another smile. You returned it.

“You know, I’ve uh…I’ve been meaning to tell you this,” Tyler cleared his throat, as if he was nervous.

You held your breath, waiting for him to continue.

“I uh…I just…I really like you, and I’d like to think that you like me too and that maybe we could try to maybe make it work or at least try and…fuck. Why is it suddenly so hard to talk to you?”

You giggled, but bit your lip so that Tyler didn’t think you were laughing at him. You just thought it was cute that he was this nervous. To just talk to YOU.

“Tyler?” You offered him a way out.

“...yeah?” He responded, still looking like he was waiting for a rejection.

“I’d really like to try.”

Tyler’s face lit up and you were couldn’t help but beam back.

“So, I got you a present, but you’ve got to close your eyes.”

You squinted, jokingly suspiciously, before you closed your eyes totally.

And then you felt Tyler’s lips on yours. It was a bit clumsy and awkward, but overall, not bad. You could feel your heart beat accelerate.

“Woo! Get it, Y/N!”

You’d forgotten you were in the middle of your living room with all your friends around. You quickly pulled away, but kept yourself close enough that you could feel Tyler’s breath on your cheek.

“Best birthday ever,” you whispered to him.

Three Years Later

You played with the hem of your shirt as you leaned against your wall, listening to your papa talk on the phone.

“...and your Uncle John finally snapped and killed your Uncle Brian.”

“Well, we knew it was only a matter of time.”

“Ah, so you are listening.”

“I am, Papa, I’m just tired,” you told him.

You weren’t lying. You had been going to school full time and working part time at a local coffee shop. You wanted to make your own money, regardless of the offers from your papa.

“Oh, Lovie. You’re working too hard. I think you need some time to relax.”

“I know, I do. Maybe soon I can come home and visit you and Dad.”

“We would love that, sweetheart. Whenever you can. We miss you. And so do your uncles and aunts.”

You smiled, knowing he was serious. You’d talked to your Uncle Brian just the day before about an Astronomy assignment that had turned into a nearly two hour conversation just to catch up. You had barely been home this year, trying to keep up on your studies.

“I know, Papa. My birthday is coming up, so maybe I can come home for that.”

“Please do. Now, tell me about this boy in your Major American Authors class.”

“Paaaapa,” you groaned. Hundreds of miles away and he could still make you blush about boys.

You then tried really hard to get time off for your birthday, but it just wasn’t possible. You couldn’t get anybody to take your shifts and you didn’t want to lose your job. You called your fathers so that you could tell them you wouldn’t make it home for your birthday, but you hoped that you’d be home in the coming weeks some time. Your parents were devastated, of course, but they understood.

You were lying in bed, not ready to get up just yet. Hey, it was your birthday. You should get to spend the whole day in bed. You stayed in bed as long as you could, but you soon had to get up.

You went to the bathroom before you heard your phone ringing in the other room. You quickly ran to grab it.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?”

“Hi, Mr. Walker.”

“Look, we won’t you need you in today. Don’t worry about your shift,” your boss told you.

You were dumbfounded. Had you done something? Did you not have a job anymore?

“Um…why’s that, Mr. Walker?”

“We got you covered is all, we’ll see you on Friday.”

Well, that meant that you still had a job, which was good.

“Okay, thank you, Mr. Walker.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Happy birthday,” Mr. Walker ended the conversation with the hang up of the phone.

You pulled the phone away and stared at it, confused. Had you told him that your birthday was coming up? Maybe somebody that you had asked to cover told him and he’d taken pity on you.

You hung the phone up, deciding not to worry about it. You went back to bed for a little bit before you decided to get ready for the day.

Basically, you took a shower and threw on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. You were relaxing with some music, trying to decide if you should get up and do some cleaning or studying when you heard a knock.

Your head whipped up because you weren’t really sure what who it could be. Maybe one of your friends from class had decided to show up and surprise you.

You stood up and opened the door, forgetting to check the peep hole.

You opened it to reveal...your fathers.

“Dad! Papa!” You threw yourself into their arms. You couldn’t help the tears that came to your eyes.

“Oof! Well, it’s good to see you too, darling,” your papa laughed and pressed a kiss to your head.

Your dad wrapped his arms around both of you.

“What are you two doing here?” You pulled away and looked them, wiping your eyes quickly.

“We had to see you on your birthday, Princess. And maybe we could go out to eat and you could show us around town a bit more.”

You beamed. “I’ll get changed.”

The rest of the day, you spent showing your dads around Glasgow. Yes, your parents had been there before and you’d shown them around a couple of times, but now you were more settled and you had your favorite spots. You even took them to the coffee shop you where you were working so you could introduce them to some of your coworkers.

You laughed and heard some stories that you hadn’t heard yet. Some were about your fathers, some were about your papa and your uncles, especially in the early days of the band.

After getting some lunch and ice cream, you all returned to your apartment. You decided to watch a movie and snuggled in with your dads, just like when you had been a kid.

You started to fall asleep with your head on your dad’s shoulder.

“I think you should get some sleep.”

“But Daaaaady…”

“Sh, Princess, you need your rest.”

You hummed, not quite arguing with him.

After some additional coaxing, your papa lead you to your room. He tucked you just like he used to when you were little.

“Good night, Lovie. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Papa.”

“We love you so so much.”

You grinned, even in your half asleep state. “Love you and Dad too.”

All in all, it was one of your favorite birthdays.

#freddie mercury #jim hutton #freddie mercury x jim hutton #daughter!reader #freddie mercury fanfic #freddie mercury fan fic #freddie mercury imagine #freddie mercury fluff #queen #queen band #queen fanfic #requested #krissys writings

56 notes · View notes

just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

Note

Part 16 of Jimercury Kid series

Baba had always told Khaleel that listening in on other people’s conversations was “very rude,” and he should never do it. But this time, as far as the five-year-old was concerned, it really wasn’t his fault.

It all started when one of his toy trains broke while he was playing with it, so he wandered off to find his daddy to see if he could fix it. He heard Daddy’s voice coming from the kitchen, accompanied by Uncle Phoebe’s, but before he could reach over and turn the door handle, he heard Daddy say, ‘I’m telling you Phoebe, he can be such a little brat sometimes.’

Khaleel froze, his big blue-green eyes going wide as he heard the anger in his Daddy’s voice, and he immediately dropped his hand back to his side. He wasn’t entirely sure what a “brat” was, but from the way his daddy spoke, it wasn’t something good. And his daddy used the word “little” so he must have been talking about Khaleel. No one else in the house was little. Except maybe the cats.

‘I know, I know.’ Replied Uncle Phoebe. ‘Trust me, I’m aware of what a little shit he can be.’

Khaleel felt his cheeks burn. Again, he wasn’t exactly sure what a “shit” was, but he knew it was a naughty word that he was never allowed to say. And Uncle Phoebe had used the word “little” as well, so they were definitely talking about him.

‘He was pestering me all morning and now he’s in a mood.’ Daddy went on. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why I put up with it.’

The hands holding the toy train began to shake. Khaleel hadn’t meant to annoy his daddy that morning. He just wanted him to stop gardening so he would play with him. He was upset when Daddy said no and told him to go and play inside, but he hadn’t thought he was that cross with him.

‘I swear,’ Daddy went on, ‘the next time he acts up like that, I’m going to put him across my knee and give him a good spanking.’

Khaleel shook so hard, he almost dropped the train altogether. He knew exactly what a spanking was. He still remembered a few years back, when he had scared Daddy by grabbing his shears and Daddy had smacked him on his bottom as punishment. It hadn’t really hurt, but it was still scary, and Daddy had promised never to do it again.

But Daddy had lied.

Uncle Phoebe laughed loudly in response, ‘I’d pay to see that!’

Khaleel’s heart sank. He thought Uncle Phoebe loved him, that he might stick up for him. But even he wanted him to get a spanking. Tears welled up in the little boy’s eyes and he ran away from the kitchen door as fast as he could, upstairs to his bedroom where he hid under his duvet, trying to muffle his sobs.

He didn’t want a spanking. He had to be on his best behaviour from now on.

Freddie hadn’t heard a peep out of Khaleel all evening.

He arrived home from the studio just before dinnertime but wasn’t greeted by the excited five-year-old jumping into his arms like he usually was. He found Khaleel in his bedroom, playing quietly with his trains and when he asked the little boy if he was okay, the child simply nodded and continued playing without saying another word.

Freddie was worried but tried not to let it eat away at him. He had always been the more overprotective parent and Jim often had to reassure him that sometimes kids just did weird things, it wasn’t always something to be alarmed about. So, he allowed Khaleel to remain in his room until Phoebe called them all to dinner.

When Khaleel arrived at the table, he was as white as a ghost. He pulled out his chair carefully, as if terrified he’d knock it over and used his cutlery in slow motion, bringing it up to his mouth with great care that it didn’t fall off his fork.

‘Darling, are you alright?’ Freddie asked, finally cracking as he leaned across to feel his son’s forehead, ‘you don’t look well.’

Khaleel just nodded and went back to eating, glancing at Jim nervously every now and then.

Eventually, his parents fell into conversation, and he breathed a small sigh of relief as he finished his meal without making any mess. He had even eaten all his vegetables, even his carrots, which he hated. Daddy would definitely be happy about that. (1/2)

He reached over to pick up the glass of milk beside his plate, when Freddie suddenly said, ‘Khaleel?’ making him jump out of his skin. The glass slipped from his hands and toppled over onto the table, milk spilling everywhere.

‘Whoops!’ Jim cried, jumping up to grab the paper towels from the kitchen nearby.

Khaleel immediately burst into tears and jumped out of his chair, running to Jim, and wrapping his little arms around his father’s leg before he could leave the room. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry Daddy! I didn’t mean to!’

Jim blinked in surprise at the child’s hysteria and, forgetting the paper towels, kneeled down to gently pull his son close. ‘Hey, hey, don’t worry. It was an accident, sweetheart. No point crying over spilt milk.’

He was trying to make him laugh but Khaleel just cried harder, throwing his arms around Jim’s neck. ‘Please don’t smack me, Daddy! I’m sorry I was naughty, I’m sorry!’

‘Kenny, what on earth are you talking about?’ Freddie got up from his chair, looking from his son to his husband, ‘what’s going on?’

‘I-I heard Daddy talking to Uncle Phoebe.’ Khaleel stammered between sobs, still clinging to Jim. ‘He s-said I was a little brat a-and he was g-going to spank me next time I’m naughty.’

Freddie looked aghast. He glared at Jim with fire in his eyes. ‘You said what?’

The colour drained from Jim’s face. He managed to prise the little boy from his bear hug and softly told him to go and wait in the lounge while he and Baba had a little chat. Khaleel continued to sob and beg, but once he was reassured that he wasn’t going to be punished he calmed down and allowed Phoebe to take him into the lounge to play with his toys. No sooner had the dining room door closed, Freddie erupted.

‘I can’t believe you, Jim Hutton!’ He thundered, not caring if the whole neighbourhood heard him. ‘How dare you – how dare you say such things about our son!’

‘Freddie.’ Jim said, unusually calm considering the situation. ‘It’s not what you think.’

‘Not what I think?! Our child overheard you talking about smacking him! Something you promised never to do again! How could you?!’

‘Freddie-’

‘No wonder he’s been so quiet today, he was terrified of being punished! I can’t believe you’ve been having such vile conversations behind my back, and to Phoebe of all people-!’

‘Freddie, I was talking about you!’

Freddie’s voice immediately cut off and he allowed his mouth to hang open a second, his hand still raised in a jabbing motion. The pair of them stared at each other, the only sound to be heard being that of Romeo and Lily faintly squabbling in the background.

Then Freddie started to laugh. Uncontrollable giggles that made him clutch his stomach and almost keel over, cackling until the tears pricked at his eyes. He could hear Jim laughing too and soon the pair of them were near hysterics, clutching each other as their bodies shook along with each chuckle, until Freddie took a deep breath and managed to pull himself together long enough to speak.

‘You were talking about me?’ He panted, wiping at his eyes.

Jim nodded, looking a little embarrassed. ‘I was still annoyed about that argument we had this morning – you know, when you were nagging me about forgetting to rake the leaves yesterday.’

Freddie pouted. ‘I was not nagging.’

‘I told Phoebe that I thought you were acting like a brat and if you behaved that way again, I’d put you over my knee.’ Jim’s face was flushed red, though he couldn’t help chuckling again. ‘Poor Kenny must have overheard us and thought I was talking about him.’

‘Oh dear.’ Freddie sighed, rubbing his tired eyes, exhausted from the sudden influx of emotions he had just experienced. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I shouldn’t have exploded at you like that before I got my facts straight.’

‘You were just being your usual, protective self.’ Jim replied, understanding as always. ‘Now the question is, how are we going to explain this to Khaleel?’

‘We’ll think of something.’ Freddie turned to start walking towards the dining room door. Before he left, he glanced back at Jim over his shoulder, sticking his backside out rather suggestively. ‘So, you plan to spank me, do you? Is that a threat, Mr Hutton?’

‘No, Mr Mercury.’ Jim replied, smirking. ‘That’s a promise.’ (2/2)

--------------------------------------------------

Ahhhhh another (sort of) spanking fic! I loved the banter at the end ahaha—I can imagine what they did after putting Kenny to sleep lmao.

Speaking of Kenny, oof, bless his little heart. You've displayed the simple reasoning of a child so well—his daddy used the word little, thus he must be the topic of conversation. Poor baby, being so afraid to break any rule.

Also lmao, Jim and Phoebe gossiping about Freddie is my new favourite thing.

I absolutely adored this part, anon! This was so sweet, and sensitive and funny and flirty—an entire package💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #freddie and jim and their baby #anon writing

7 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]

A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark @culturefiendtrashqueen @allauraleigh @deakydeacy @bluutac @johndeaconshands @nyxaura

It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.

Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”

Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”

John: “Hello.”

Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”

Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”

Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”

Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”

John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”

Roger: “I think I know one or two.”

Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”

Interviewer: “Really?!”

John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”

Roger: “Only took ten years.”

John: “Fourteen, actually.”

Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”

John: “You’re welcome to try.”

Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”

Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”

Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”

Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “

Interviewer: “Congratulations!”

Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”

Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”

John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”

Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”

John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”

Interviewer: “Indeed.”

John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”

Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”

Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”

Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”

Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”

John: “Well, not all of them.”

Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”

John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”

Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”

John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”

Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”

Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”

John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”

Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”

John: “I did, it’s true.”

Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”

John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”

Roger: “It was touching, really.”

Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”

John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”

Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”

Interviewer: “What?”

Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”

Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”

Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.

Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.

Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.

Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.

“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.

Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.

“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”

“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.

Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”

After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.

“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”

“And she’s good with the kids.”

“True...”

“And her hair matches Brian’s.”

Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”

“Yeah, a Valium.”

“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”

Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”

Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.

“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.

You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”

“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.

“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Dominique nods; but you already knew.

Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.

“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”

She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.

“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”

Dominique blinks, not understanding.

“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”

And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.

“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.

Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”

“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”

“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.

A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”

“Not about you, I hope.”

“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.

“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”

You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.

Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”

Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”

Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”

Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”

Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”

Roger: “Yes, yes.”

Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”

Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”

Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”

Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”

Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”

Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”

Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”

Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”

Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”

John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”

Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”

John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”

Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”

John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”

Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”

Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”

Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”

John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”

Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”

Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’

John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”

Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”

Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”

Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”

John: “You have to keep things interesting.”

Roger: “Exactly!”

Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”

John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”

Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”

John: “Oh, sure.”

Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”

John: “Annoying?”

Brian: “Combative?”

Roger: “Fiery.”

John: “That’s one word for it.”

Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”

Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”

John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.

You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.

“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”

He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”

“John!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”

“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.

When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”

“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”

“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”

“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”

“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”

“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”

“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”

“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”

“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.

“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”

“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”

“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.

The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.

Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.

Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.

You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.

“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.

“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”

He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”

“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”

“And I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.

“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”

It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.

“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”

He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”

“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”

“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.

“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”

“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”

“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.

“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”

“I can’t see that far—!”

“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”

She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”

“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.

“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”

Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”

“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”

Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.

“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”

“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.

“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”

“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.

Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”

“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”

“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.

“It was from all the bleaching!!”

“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.

Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.

“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”

“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.

So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.

“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.

“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”

“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.

Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.

The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.

“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.

Joe turns to you, confused.

“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”

“Noted.”

Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”

“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”

“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”

The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.

Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“He would have adored you,” you say.

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”

“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”

“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”

“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”

145 notes · View notes

freddieofhearts · 4 years

Text

Bye bye, dears (for now!)

I know there have been a lot of rumours and some posts about me leaving, so here I am to set the record straight and say a quick ‘au revoir’. This post is long, and I don’t expect everyone to read the whole thing—if you just want information on how to keep in touch, or about access to my removed fics, scroll to the bottom. ⬇️

Why are you leaving?

Firstly, of course I’m not leaving Freddie. This is just an ongoing hiatus from the social side of fandom, because while I have some incredible friends here, who have done all they can to support me and have made this experience wonderful in lots of ways—it’s also true that the social space has become more and more toxic for me.

I get a wild amount of hate. Despite never having my ask box enabled on here, people create new accounts just to message me and tell me all the problems in this fandom are my fault, that I’m faking being sick, that I should kill myself, that I’m fat, etc. I also very regularly get hateful comments on AO3.

Obviously I realise that I’m not the only one who receives these cruel attacks, but it’s become increasingly hard to handle them—especially as some people (‘real’ accounts, not faceless anons) do continue to blame me for wider problems in the fandom. It makes me feel consistently sad, anxious, and paranoid, so that I can’t focus on anything Queen-related that I enjoy.

More pressingly, it’s affected my mental health, which is—imperfect at the best of times. As I’ve occasionally alluded to in older posts on this blog, I have a history of anorexia, OCD, PTSD, and some other overlapping issues. Most people who know me in the fandom are also aware that I’m ‘clinically extremely vulnerable’ to Covid-19, significantly immunocompromised, and have been isolating at home for eleven months.

The combination of all of these things + the constant toxic messages has really been triggering me, and leading to an uptick in disordered behaviours, which my body cannot sustain. Every new instance of hate from an anon—every time there’s another indication of groups in the fandom wanting to ostracise me further—my reaction is deeply self-punitive and unhealthy. Ultimately I need to be out of this environment for, at least, a protracted period. My therapist, my partner and my close friends in the fandom support this decision.

So, what went wrong?

In 2019, I expected to be an absolutely tiny blog in the Queen Tumblr landscape. The fandom was already well-established, and I have never worked to ‘build a following’ on here—I think I’ve linked my own fic a maximum of three or four times!—in fact, more or less the opposite. As I mentioned above: ya girl is nutty as a fruitcake. As a result, I often avoid extremely niche things in daily life which cause severe anxiety for me, Relevant examples here: I never look at my timeline. I never intentionally look at my follower number. Yup, it’s strange, I fully admit it, but it’s best for me to go with these things—usually. In Queen fandom, however, this avoidance both of analytic stats and of most direct engagement led to some problems... My followers grew without me realising, and way more people were reading my blog than I was aware of. I was still in a—“Wow, this fandom is very frustrating, and rife with ableism, racism, etc., so how do we fix this???”—mindset, and I wanted to share my opinions, sure! but I also thought I was sharing them with 15-20 like-minded people.

Now, intent is not impact, and I recognise that I was brusque, didn’t phrase things particularly sensitively, and absolutely did hurt some people by criticising the fandom so freely. I still regret this—and I regret just as much the fact that some assholes have used my criticising the fandom on my own blog as implicit justification for attacking authors. I have said on here many times that I don’t condone that behaviour—but I also think there’s some truth in the presumption that these anonymous malcontents felt my critiques somehow ‘permitted’ them to engage in abuse. For the first few months, though, I genuinely had no idea there was a link at all—and so I was initially slow to condemn this abusive behaviour in public, because I was taking it for granted all authors agreed it was shitty. It took someone directly telling me (shoutout to @a-froger-epic) that people had identified a connection between my posts and the anons, before everything fell into place.

I would like to offer my apologies to the fandom at large for not being more quick on the uptake about this, because I feel that had I realised sooner that these people were taking ‘inspiration’ in some way from me, it might have been easier to put a stop to it. It does seem that there is still a lot of confusion about whether I support them and which of their views I agree with. Let’s be 100% clear on this: I do not support the anonymous commenters on AO3. At times there is some, limited overlap between parts of their views and parts of mine, but even that is less than you may think—I often see anonymous comments from so-called ‘Freddie fans’ that I substantially disagree with.

Perhaps even more importantly: I do not support anyone who sends anonymous hate on Tumblr.

What’s all this about ‘overlap’ with the anons?

Let’s do a mini-summary of the myths vs. the truth. There are views I hold which are genuinely unpopular in the fandom—but which I own up to completely, and have never tried to hide in any way. I’ve never needed to use anonymous to share my opinions because I’m completely open about them! What people who don’t know me tend to have ‘heard’ about me, though, is usually a drastic distortion of my real opinions.

What people think I think:

- Freddie should never top.

- It’s okay to send anon hate if someone writes Freddie ‘wrong’.

- It’s more important to correct ‘wrong’ portrayals than to respect other writers.

- It’s inherently wrong to be more interested in band pairings than canon pairings.

- Freddie should be overtly written as a r*pe survivor/victim (and not doing this is wrong).

- Freddie should be overtly written as having an eating disorder (and not doing this is wrong).

- Kink fics are wrong.

What I actually think:

- I believe Freddie did have a strongly defined sexual identity with marked preferences, but I don’t think Jim Hutton lied when he said that Freddie topped. I believe Freddie did top, but this isn’t the time or place to get into my thoughts on why/when/how much. I do believe that my analysis of the sources relevant to this subject is as historically accurate as one can reasonably be in matters of sex (where historical accuracy will always be particularly limited and imperfect)—but I don’t think it’s morally wrong to write Freddie as topping more than he probably did.

- I don’t believe there’s only one ‘right’ version of Freddie (all others being ‘wrong’). I do believe it is possible to be more right or less right—but I’m also conscious of the fact that this scale of value is not one by which everyone measures fanfiction. As a result, then, I don’t think that any perceptions surrounding ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ justify sending anonymous, non-constructive criticism, or outright hate.

- I do believe constructive criticism is a good thing. I welcome and appreciate it myself; I have received it on my fics in Queen fandom, and it has made them better. I have been in writing workshops which included very forceful criticisms, and the value of such feedback has been intimately and immediately part of my life as a writer for years. However: in this case, I have accepted that my opinion differs from the general community preference, and so I no longer offer any constructive criticism (outside private beta-reading). I haven’t changed my view, but I’ve changed my practice to align with community norms.

- I do not think any single, individual writer has a personal responsibility to write about Freddie Mercury in any given way. That ranges from including the more distressing topics to which I’ve devoted attention (such as trauma)—to concentrating on ‘canon’ pairings like Jimercury—to, even, focusing on Freddie at all.

“Now, that doesn’t sound like you, @freddieofhearts,” you might be thinking. And I know it doesn’t; I think something I’ve done a poor job of articulating is the difference between how I view each individual fan—namely, as free to shape their creative experience at will, even in ways that I might find distressing or offensive; even in ways that you might find distressing or offensive—and the way I view the Collective. I think people have interpreted some of my critiques of ‘Queen Fandom’ as meaning something like: “You-in-particular, a specific Queen fan, are doing it wrong and should change everything about how you do it; also you don’t really care about Freddie.”

And—that’s not it. What any given fan, as an individual, does, isn’t a problem. And that can be true alongside—concurrently with—a multivalent critique of how the fandom is lacking in representation of Freddie’s life, with all that that (wonderful, deservedly celebrated, but also profoundly traumatic) life entailed. I still hold that view; I still have myriad problems with ‘the fandom’ (structurally, collectively, historically and presently—from the 1990s to the 2020s). Some of what I want to work on (away from the social life of fandom) is expressing those critiques with greater nuance, in ways that can’t be misinterpreted as shading any particular fanfiction author or subgenre of story.

In brief: I haven’t changed my mind, but I think Tumblr is an untenable environment in which to discuss the things I want to analyse, especially as there is an ever-present danger of hurting someone.

Can we keep in touch? Where is the fic?

I will drop by this account periodically to check out posts that friends have sent me, so you can always sent me a private message to ask for my contact details on the other app that I’m using now for fandom friends. Multiple Freddie conversations and projects are going on over there, off-Tumblr, with a much ‘gentler’ environment and no bad actors—I personally love it!

All my fic has been downloaded and saved. I don’t want to deal with constant harassment on AO3, but I’m happy to share a copy with anyone who missed it and wants to read/re-read something. I also saved everyone’s lovely comments and thoughtful con-crit, so none of that has been lost or erased.

Thank you to everyone who welcomed me to the fandom, made me think, taught me, shared with me, sent me into fits of the giggles, collaborated with me creatively, and otherwise made this one hell of a ride! Love you all. ❤️

#au revoir my dears #lil gay bby

27 notes · View notes

rushingheadlong · 4 years

Text

Okay. I’m going to say something that is definitely going to be unpopular but I’m asking you all to finish reading this post before you come for my throat over this.

This fandom does an atrocious job of discussing Freddie’s sexuality, and making a thousand posts saying, “He was gay!!” or “He wasn’t bi!!” isn’t good enough. And it’s especially not good enough to approach these conversations from the mindset that everyone who thinks that Freddie was bi is doing so from a malicious or uncaring place, because I can assure you that that isn’t the case.

It’s easy to think that people perpetuate this belief because they have some ulterior motive or are just really lazy, but the problem isn’t with someone not doing enough research it’s that the resources that prove that Freddie was gay are not readily accessible to fandom newcomers.

Think about where people are most likely to turn for information at first. Freddie’s wikipedia page lists his supposed “relationship” with Barbara Valentin (and unless you know who he is or google the name, Winfried Kirchberger sounds like it could be another woman as well). Wikipedia also doesn’t give a concrete answer for Freddie’s sexuality, but is written in such a way that it sounds more likely for him to be bi than not. The first biography people are likely to stumble across will probably be the Lesley Ann Jones one, and we all know how garbage it is but that doesn’t mean a fandom newcomer is going to know to stay away from it.

Even if they’re looking for contemporaneous interviews and videos, Freddie said so many coy and tongue-in-cheek things to reporters but we don’t have anything like Bowie’s numerous specific interview discussions about his sexuality. If someone is looking for “proof” like that, they’re not going to find it and they’re going to jump to the wrong conclusion. A conclusion that, for the record, is understandable when you consider that other people were calling Freddie bi all the time in the late 80s/early 90s, not only in news reports but in books and even at the Tribute Concert itself.

When you’ve been in the fandom long enough it gets easier to pick out the truth. You start to see Brian’s comments and Roger’s comments, you find what Phoebe and Jim said about Freddie, you learn that those supposed relationships in the 80s never existed, you find the things that Freddie did say that don’t get plastered over the internet all the time - but you don’t have that information as a fandom newcomer, and finding that information is incredibly difficult to do when you don’t know enough yet to know when something is fishy.

I would absolutely love to see a positive, friendly post geared at fandom newcomers that discusses why Freddie was gay and not bi that comes from a place of wanting to share accurate information without any shaming or vitriol involved. I would love a post that addresses why we know Freddie never had a relationship with Barbara Valentin, that explains who his known (male) partners were beyond just Jim Hutton, that lists out all the sources for everything Freddie did say about his sexuality and lists out all the sources for everything that everyone else has said about it as well.

But a post like that doesn’t exist. What does exist is a thousand nasty arguments and comments like, “Imagine being so ignorant that you still think Freddie was bi in 2020 lol” which does nothing to correct the misinformation or change someone’s opinion if they’ve drawn the wrong conclusion based on the information available to them. And in fact, you’re only making people more likely to double-down on their stance of Freddie being bi or “It doesn’t matter, stop talking about this” because you are coming across at best as not being willing to answer questions about this and at worst as outright biphobic (because there is absolutely some horrific biphobic shit that gets thrown out during these conversations, and just because Freddie wasn’t bi that doesn’t mean you get a free pass to say whatever you want about all bi people).

Freddie was gay, and it’s important to discuss this because his sexuality absolutely shaped not only his music but also who he was as a person. But we as a fandom have got to stop acting like this is obvious information or an easy conclusion to reach, because there is so much misinformation out there that it’s very easy to get led astray.

And I know this because I used to be in the “Freddie was bi” camp, because the information I found told me that was true. I know now that I was wrong about that but there were so many times that I almost walked away from this fandom because of the disgusting arguments and biphobic comments people were slinging around about Freddie’s sexuality. Luckily some of this has died down over the last year, and luckily I stuck around long enough to learn the truth - but not everyone is going to stick around, and many of them are going to close their minds and just walk away.

We have to stop using Freddie’s sexuality as a launchpad for arguments with other fans and stop feeling superior for “knowing the truth” and instead start focusing on sharing that truth with others, because that’s the only way you are ever going to change anyone’s mind about this.

#long post //#text #ramblings #Freddie #anyway this is a post that's literally been brewing for about the last 18 months #I'm probably going to regret posting this but I am just Done with seeing so much nasty shit about Freddie's sexuality #from people who claim to support him or support ''the truth'' or whatever #please stop assuming the worst of your fellow fans all the time when it is VERY easy to get led astray here

90 notes · View notes

painandpleasure86 · 4 years

Text

I was born to love you (Secret Santa exchange!)

A/N: Dearest @queenies-bug I’m your secret Santa! :D Sorry for my delay, life was hard and some plans didn’t result like I expected, like posting this fic earlier... I did what I could, I really hope you enjoy this fic(and please be honest with your opinion about this fic). Thanks, @warriorteam1924 and @thosequeenboys for hosting this beautiful event! Tysm for the effort, sweeties!

Summary: After lots of nights having the same dream and recognizing a “mark”, he tries to find why that happened to him...

Pairing: Platonic Frian/Maycury and romantic Jimercury (current time AU).

Warning: some fluff, some angst, some swearing, and a tiny little holidays touch!

Word count: 1600

Another day. Another time with that dream.

He’s clearly confused about it. If that wasn’t enough, his arm itched when he woke up. Again, over that “mark”.

That specific day was meanwhile they were touring, so his bandmates listened to that story again when they were taking their breakfast.

-Do you have that dream again with the two princes, and they were trying to be with you?- Brian asked.

-Yeah and again I ended with that strange man…

-And again you had “the itch”? -Roger asked.

-Exactly. I still have the mark here -Freddie said, pointing to his right forearm and extending it near to Roger.

-I still don’t see anything.

-That damn mark exists!- Freddie exclaimed.

-I don’t know mate, I think you’re going insane. You really should go to the psychiatrist, for real.

-Lots of touring it’s affecting you, I suppose- John pointed, meanwhile he was sipping his tea.

-And you aren’t affected? You’re a damn alcoholic that had his driver licence suspended- Freddie said, impulsively.

John just stared at him in silence, controlling himself to not say something that he would regret later. Both were watching to the other’s eyes. Brian cut off that tension.

-Fred, it doesn’t matter that here. Everyone has their own problems.

-I’m tired of their disbelief. They aren’t even trying to understand me. How many times I need to say that I don’t want to sleep because lately I just have that dream?

-We’re trying to understand you, Fred. Don’t lie like that. If we’re telling you that you need some psychiatric help it’s because we really care about you.

John didn’t want to say anything, he lighted a cigarette to keep his nerves controlled. He decided to contemplate the rest of the scene in silence.

-Really you’re trying to understand me??? Really, Roger?! -Freddie yelled, quite nervous.

-Fred breathe, please. Come with me - Brian said, putting his right hand over Freddie’s left shoulder-. We will return soon -Brian added, watching to John and Roger.

They stood up from the table and left Roger and John alone.

-For real, Freddie worries me -Roger said.

-I just hope he can find a logic explanation of his problem soon.- John said, smoking his cigarette.

Brian and Freddie walked to the hotel’s park. When Brian checked that wasn’t any stranger near to them, Bri started to speak.

-I think I have an explanation -Brian said, watching to that worried brown eyes.

-Please, tell me about it.

Freddie grabbed Brian’s hands. Brian couldn’t help but blush and smile a little. “Try to repress your feelings, you know that he isn’t your soulmate”, thought him.

-Bri, are you okay

Bri quitted his hands of Freddie’s grasp and scratched his forehead with his left hand.

-Yes, sorry. I… was thinking how I tell you this.

-Ah?

-Call me insane, but I read lots of things, no? Well, it exists some myths about something called “soulmate marks”.

Freddie was watching to that hazel eyes a bit confused.

-It’s when you have a mark that refers to your soulmate. I cannot see it, because just you and your soulmate can see it, so, how's the mark?

-Em… It’s like an X with two circles in its extremes.

-Hmm… scissors. A hairdresser perhaps? A gardener?

Freddie tries to remember the dream.

-Oh my… in my dream that strange man had scissors… and he was pruning the plants.

-In a medieval world?

-Yeah…

-Perhaps that’s a signal of him. Also, I see that you aren’t scratching your forearm…

-Yeah, and it’s just white. When it itches, it turns red.

-That’s because you aren’t near to your soulmate… - Brian said, a little sad.

-Are you okay, my dear?

-Yes Fred, it’s just… nothing. -Brian sighed- I hope you can be happy with that person soon.

-It doesn’t seem like nothing, but okay…

-I hope this explanation haves some sense…

-It’s a possibility, my dear. I’ll be more attentive when it starts to itch since now, thanks- Freddie said, hugging Brian

-You’re welcome, Fred- Brian said, watching over Freddie’s head. “I love you, but you don’t belong to me. Damn fate”, thought Brian.

-Please tell me more about that myths, Bri - Freddie said, leaving the embrace.

-I’ll tell you more later, now we should return to our table- Brian responded, starting to walk.

»»-------------¤-------------««

With that idea in his mind and after reading some stories about soulmate marks and more, he started to go to clubs even more, so he could pass near to the maximum of people. He checked Tinder a lot. He started to worry a lot about this, seeing that his mark don’t turn red meanwhile he was awake (because he still had that dream). Some weeks later this turned into his obsession.

His bandmates noticed this. One afternoon, they were talking about stuff, and Freddie’s thing came to the talk.

-Freddie it’s going worse, what do you say to him? I mean, you never told us what you said to him -Roger asked.

Brian explained briefly about soulmate marks to Roger and John. Both stared at him, trying to understand what he said.

-I barely understood about that, but I feel that you worsened the situation. -Roger responded.

-I tried to give him a possible explanation…

-And that was nice, but now he’s literally obsessed with that. He can’t focus in the band stuff… even he forgets the chords or the lyrics of the songs quite often- John added, lightning a new cigarette.

-You should talk with him about this - Roger said.

-Please Brian -John added, smoking his cigarette.

-Well, I’ll do it, but please don’t be listening behind the dorm’s door. I know you very well… -Brian said, walking to Freddie’s room.

Fifteen minutes later, Brian was knocking Freddie’s hotel room door. Freddie was crying, lying on his bed, watching to the ceiling. When he listened to the knocking he wiped his tears.

-Can I come in? -Brian asked.

-Yeah, my dear -Freddie responded, standing up.

Freddie opened the door and left Brian to enter to his room.

After closing the door, both sat on a comfy sofa that Freddie had in his room.

-Tell me what’s wrong Fred.

-I’m not finding him. I need to find him, I need to love him! Why that’s so hard?

Brian sighed deeply and hugged Freddie.

-I mean, I know that life isn’t easy, but I’m eager to know to that mysterious man. Where are you, my love? - continued Freddie, crying again over Brian’s shoulder.- Perhaps the boys are right, I need to go to a psychiatrist.

-You aren’t crazy. You will find him Fred, relax. I think he will appear when you aren’t expecting for it.

Freddie sighed as deep as he could, trying to stop his tears.

-I hope…

“Brian, don’t be stupid. Don’t tell him your feelings. Fate it’s already written.”

Brian left the embrace.

-Seriously Fred. Focus in your music, in your projects, in the band, make new friends, and you will see that he will appear… Enjoy the ride! I know that’s easy to say, but try to relax. The boys and I will be with you anytime you need something.

-Thank you Bri. You really are my soul brother.

“I hate myself for my feelings” Brian thought. He couldn’t help but start to cry. Listen from Freddie’s mouth that he hadn’t romantic feelings for him was devastating. Didn’t care how many times he said to himself “fate it’s already written, he will not be with you”, remember his status of “brother” hurt like a kick in the crotch.

Freddie saw Bri’s crying tears, and he hugged Brian tightly.

»»-------------¤-------------««

After his talk with Brian, Freddie tried to put into practice his friend’s advice, and he saw the difference. Yeah, he still had that dream often, but he was enjoying more of his days.

Months later, being in that situation, he decided to go to a club. He was entering there and his mark was itching. “Today it’s the night” he thought. His soulmate was near.

While he was drinking something, he noticed the person that was next to him. The mark was itching harder. Plus, he studied his profile and reminded him to the strange man of his dreams. “Fuck, it’s him! I need to talk with him right now”, Freddie thought.

-Hello gorgeous -Freddie said.

The person was surprised for that sudden compliment.

-Hi -he responded, meanwhile was scratching his left forearm.

-Do you have a mark there? -Freddie pointed.

The man watched to that brown eyes with his wide open eyes.

-Em… how do you know that?

-Because that happens to me right now, and I can see it.

-I think I know you - Jim said, suddenly.

-Really?

-Sometimes I have some dreams and always I’m with someone with your face, and this shit -he pointed to his left forearm-itches as hell.

-That happens to me too, but with you.

Jim had his eyes wide open.

-Do you know the concept of soulmate marks?

-Nope.

-Are marks that just you and your soulmate have or can see.

-So...

-We’re destined to be together, honey. Tell me your name.

-Jim Hutton -he replied, still surprised.- Yours?

-I’m Freddie, your future boyfriend.

Jim couldn’t help but smile.

-Let’s see… may the fate speak -Jim added, still sceptical.

-Lemme invite some drinks then and talk -Freddie proposed.

-Of course -Jim replied, smiling.

They didn’t know when they decided to go to the club that they will meet, and their life would change. Also, they didn’t imagine that holidays they would be in good company, with their significant other, their soulmate.

I really hope that you liked this, hun!

To the another ppl: thanks to you for read this!!

If you enjoyed this, please like and reblog! <3

Have a wonderful holidays!!!

With love, Lily :3

13 notes · View notes

obsessivelollipoplalala · 3 years

Note

*HEAVY SIGH*

I see people accusing Jim of stealing stuff from Garden Lodge all the damn time and it's really getting old, because there is zero evidence that this is true and is based on nothing but hearsay from a bunch of loudmouths on the internet. It's no coincidence that the people who spread this rumour are bitter Mary stans who hate Jim and will do anything to demonize him. If Jim, Joe or Phoebe had stolen anything from GL, they would have been arrested. I've seen Mary's fans claim that she let them get away with it because she "didn't want to cause a scandal" but we know that's bullshit, given that she's publicly slated the GL boys and the band to the press, gave several interviews right after Freddie died where she made all these dishonest claims about his final days, and that huge fiasco with Oscar the cat. If any of them had taken something from Garden Lodge that Mary wanted, she would have raised merry hell over it (or should I say, "mary" hell, lmao.)

So, either A) the jacket was specifically left for Jim as well as other things B) Jim asked if he could keep the jacket and Mary let him, or C) Jim "stole" the jacket and Mary didn't give a fuck. Take your pick.

I'm also tired of people criticising Jim for selling the jacket. Like you said, the most important memories of Freddie for Jim were the ones he had in his head. At the end of the day, it was just a jacket. A piece of clothing that would have undoubtedly ended up at an auction or in a stranger's hands after Jim died anyway. I've heard some accounts that Jim was sick at the time and needed money for his cancer treatment, but whether that's true or not is irrelevant to me. I don't see anyone criticising Mary for selling some of Freddie's furniture, despite not needing to, right after he died. I don't see anyone criticising Freddie's mother for selling his beloved piano, or his sister for selling his car. These were all items that meant a lot to Freddie but that's what they were, items. Freddie was dead and had no use for them any more.

People can't hold onto that stuff forever and they inevitably have to be sold, lest they just sit around and gather dust. When my grandmother died, all her clothes were given to charity or recycled, including her wedding dress which meant the world to her. But it was too old to be used and would just have sat abandoned in a closet for the rest of its existence; it was sad to see it go but there was just no point keeping it other than sentimentality. The charity shop were able to use some of the dress' materials to fix/fashion other clothing, so it was put to good use in the end.

On that note, from what I've read, the jacket ended up in very good hands. The people who attend these auctions are usually responsible collectors, not just random people off the street. They're not going to waste thousands of dollars on an item that they're not going to look after. The collector who bought the Wembley jacket often temporarily donates it to museums, along with other celebrity clothes, so all Freddie's fans get to see and appreciate it. Had Jim left the jacket to a friend or family member, there's no doubt in my mind that it would have ended up right in the same place. But people just love to shit all over Jim, so of course they're going to criticise him for it.

TL;DR: There is no evidence that Jim stole anything from GL, only crazy theories by homophobic fans who love riding Mary's dick. Also, when someone famous dies, their items are often sold for various reasons. It would be great if we could keep everything forever, but sadly that's not the reality. People need to get off their high horses and stop policing who can and can't do what.

Not sure if I could add much else lol. Idk if it was the case with the other anon—it seems like no—but it’s no coincidence that most people who accuse Jim of stealing also love Mary. It’s hilarious when people act like she didn’t want a scandal or media attention when that’s the opposite of her actions. She would’ve loved to paint herself as the victim of theft at GL.

Yeah Mary sold GL furniture but no one questions that, and Freddie’s family sold some of his belongings, like you said. Objects mean different things to different people. Contrast this with Brian, who is very sentimental and owns Freddie’s touring piano, and Roger who takes care of some of his stage outfits. It’s a good point that collectors at that level take really good care of their memorabilia and don’t let items just sit and rot. The jacket is probably in better hands now than if it had been left in the Hutton family after Jim passed. I think this is another case of something that’s really common with celebrities after they pass being treated as some big scandal, like when people freak out over Jim writing a book.

#since when did asks get so long btw #people can write essays in my inbox but it wasn’t always the case #and I think it’s only on mobile #anyway even if Jim did take it? good for him #lol #Queen #replies #Anonymous

1 note · View note

queen-for-life · 5 years

Photo

“Do you love me?' he asked. 'Yes, I love you,' I said. I held him tight and we kissed. He constantly needed the reassurance that I loved him, and until the end would now and then ask whether I did. He knew I loved him, but he needed to hear me say it. Even though thousands of fans around the world loved him without ever having met him, the only person he seemed to want to know really did love him was me. His fondness for me made me feel very special. I'd never known anyone want my affection so much, and I was deeply flattered.” - Jim Hutton

#farrokh bulsara #freddie mercury #jim hutton

182 notes · View notes

nic-214 · 4 years

Text

70s Jimercury: Model

Art Credit: Darlingfreddie (Tumblr)

Modern

70s Freddie

70s Jim

70s Roger

70s Brian

Freddie thanks Peter for the ride as he arrives at the morning agency. His camera bag clangs against his jean leg, "I'll pay you for gas after work." Fred tells him.

Peter nods lighting a cigarette, "You better or it will be public transport for you.'' he jokes.

Freddie fakes offence and they laugh, "Catch you at 6 hopefully Diva isn't in today."

"He's the worse." Peter laughs shaking his head recounting the stories Fred told him of Diva Taylor.

Freddie wishes him well and heads to the building. It was a sister location of the old one he had a contract in, the original relocated further away and Fred got transferred here. He made quiet the name for himself throughout his five year career.

He enters the new building he reads the secretary nameplate, "Mary Austin". He sighs and fixes his bag, "Ms. Austin where's, Mr. Hutton's room?"

She gives him a pretty smile showing her perfect teeth, "Mr. Hutton is on the second floor room B-485." she twirls some of her blond hair with her finger she leans in some so her cleavage can be seen, "You're the photographer right?"

Freddie gives her a nod and lifts his camera bag up.

"Maybe you can take some pictures of me after hours." she says flirtatious.

Freddie shakes his head, "Sorry I'm not into blonds. Too messy." he flees up the stairs.

Mary sits there looking confused.

.......

The young man reads over the door plates trying to find the right one. Some days he wished he read through his papers more thoroughly. Finally he finds the room and enters it. The room looked like it could belong on Pinterest by how it is decorated and set up. He assumes it's a female model he'll be working with for today, Freddie shakes his head and gets the camera and lights ready for the model. The Parsi Indian looks at his paper, "Mr. J. Hutton." was all he read before going back to fixing up the lights. He hoped Hutton will be nice to him and not be a a piece of shit. The door clicks open and Freddie turns around to greet him.

Freddie felt his face heat up he gripped the camera in his hands as the young model walks in, the model disrobes leaving him in the nude.

"Mr. H-Hutton?" Freddie stutters out face burning god this felt like the first time taking pictures of nude models.

Jim gives him a smirk, "Mr. Bulsara."

Freddie's mouth felt dry, "You look good." he let his eyes wander down.

Jim was plus side there was no denying that. His soft belly that stuck out a little how his whole body looked so soft and cushiony, "Mr. Bulsara?" Jim was sitting on the moon chair legs slightly spread.

"W-What is this for again?" Freddie asks regretting not reading the papers fully.

"For a adult magazine, love."

Freddie shudders and gets the pictures taken. He didn't want to seem perverted but Jim was like a god in body type, Freddie finishes up the photoshoot, he had to help Jim pose a few times, he was warm feeling but that could be caused by the millons of lights on in this room. Fred hated to say this but Jim looked good when he was glistening.

Freddie watches as Jim puts his robe back on, "Hey.. Bulsara.... You're that one guy." Jim finally realizes.

"One guy what?"

"You did photoshoots for that blond model."

"Which blond model?" Freddie asks.

"Taylor kid. Kinda looks like a girl acts like one too."

"Ah yeah." Freddie rubs the back of his neck how could he forget Diva Taylor?

He made Fred work for his paycheck, made him retake dozens of pictures because "I wasn't ready", "my eyes look too green", "I look too orange, "too much light", "not enough light, "too hot", "too cold", "I wasn't looking", "my lipstick is smudged, "my makeup looks wrong", "my feet look gross", "hide your face I can't look at it", "don't look at me donkey you're too ugly to see me". And the list goes on with him. What should of taken two hours and a quick send off to the editors took five hours and no lunch break. Freddie grimaced recalling the wedding photos he took of Diva Taylor and his astrophysicists husband Brian Taylor, poor guy seemed so nice and had to deal with a stuck up bitch for a husband.

"Bulsara?" Jim snapped Freddie from his thoughts again,

"Hmm?"

"Lunch? You and me, in my dressing room?"

Freddie gulps, "Uh sure. But I was just going to go home and make something. I can't afford any of the food that's in the cafeteria."

Jim shakes his head, "That shouldn't be. You're part of our staff too. You deserve to eat here, come, come. I'm buying."

Freddie looks away as he puts his camera up and follows after Jim like a lost puppy, "Don't you want to dress?"

Jim looks over his shoulder, "I'm in my robe. I'll be fine." he pulls Freddie forward so they're walking side by side which earned them weird looks.

"I'll try and pay you back." Freddie tells him fixing his hair up into a bun.

"Don't," Jim says, "Keep your money. Buy yourself something nice."

Freddie blushes and smiles a little trying to keep his teeth hidden, "Thank you, sir.''

"Call me, Jim."

Why was Jim being so nice to him? He's just some gay immigrant scrapping the bottom of the barrel trying to make good wages and not die in a gutter.

"Call me Freddie then, Jim." Freddie says adjusting his bag strap.

Jim smiles showing his perfect teeth, "There we go."

The two step into the eatery Jim keeps a hand on Freddie's slender wrist like the boy would just run out of there giving the chance.

Jim lets Freddie order first which was just a simple bacon burger with fries, "You want a drink?'' Jim asks.

"I was just going to use the vending machine."

Jim nods and he orders his food as well. He pays for both meals which costed him a total of £87.54, he was lucky the vending machine was close by, Freddie got them both drinks to make up the high lunch bill.

Fred felt something hit the back of his head and whirls around with their drinks. He sees a corn cob laying on the floor and sees Diva Taylor a few feet ahead of him, "Roger?!" Freddie yells, "Did you throw corn at me."

Diva Taylor flips him off, "You bastard! You ruined my career!!" he throws a magazine at him. Freddie catches it and looks at it, "Yeah, you were pregnant during the photoshoot. So you're going to look chubby."

Jim sees Roger's swollen belly cramped into a much too small top and he felt awful for the unborn child, "Look, Taylor. You won't have to worry about Freddie no more. I'm making him my personal photographer." Jim starts to walk away with a stunned looking Freddie and Roger looking pissed off. He's beating on his husband's back screeching at him stomping his foot demanding Brian to buy Freddie for his own use.

Freddie shudders as the doors close behind them, "I feel so bad for him and their unborn child."

Jim nods stealing one of Fred's fries as they walk, "You know you could be a model easily." Jim tells Fred.

Freddie shakes his head, " Jim-"

"You're skinny.... Petite even. Most agencies want that."

"I'm not white." Freddie says sounding upset, "I'm not good enough for those kind of jobs because of my skin."

Jim sets their food and drinks down. He hugs Freddie tight realizing that Freddie is practically smothered in his fat chest, "And with us fatties you get to be smothered."

Freddie laughs grabbing his food, "Thanks, Jim." he clamps a hand over his mouth knowing he just showed his teeth off.

"You're beautiful." Jim says.

Freddie felt his face heat up, ''Really?"

Jim nods sipping on his coke, "I love your teeth you should show them off more."

Freddie felt a grin creeping onto his face, "Jim-"

Jim kisses him gingerly watching as a big smile spreads on Freddie's face showing off them cute teeth, "Absolutely stunning."

Freddie blushes and pulls Jim down onto his lap, "We're dating now right?"

Jim chuckles and kisses his neck, "I would hope so. I don't just throw myself onto anybody."

"Good because I want to do this." Freddie smacks Jim's ass hard and grabs it.

Jim blushes darkly, "You cheeky bastard." he kisses him roughly.

"Let's take this back to my place." Jim says seductively.

Freddie smirks and nods, " Let's go."

Jim dresses in sweats and an old t-shirt

As they got up Freddie sent a quick text to Peter saying he won't be back until late and he'll get a different ride.

Freddie follows after Jim watching as his hips sway, "You're like a god."

Jim blushes at Freddie's blurting, "Well," they were stopped at Jim's car, "If I'm a god that makes you my smoking hot goddess."

Freddie blushes again and kissed him pinning him against the car, "I-I love you, Jimbo. You make me feel pretty."

Jim grins and wraps his arms around Freddie's tiny waist, "You don't even know how much I love you."

The two share another kiss not knowing they're being photographed.

#Jimercury: Model #jimercury #queen fanfiction #fanfic

10 notes · View notes

assembledherethevolunteers · 4 years

Text

The Girl You Think I Am

A/N: Well, hello again! Who’s ready for another songfic? This is the song ‘The Girl You Think I Am’ by Carrie Underwood (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLIOWEYZqNA ).So, I originally wasn’t going to write one for Freddie, but then I heard this song and it made me feel like Dad!Freddie needed some love. Also, this was supposed to be up on Sunday for Father’s Day, but life happens. Okay. Love you guys! Enjoy!

Pairing: Freddie Mercury x Jim Hutton w/ daughter!reader

Summary: Just some snapshots of your life with your Papa (Freddie) and your Dad (Jim)

Warnings: Underage drinking mentioned, fluff

Taglist: @queenlover05 @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye

You were terrified. You were so nervous you were shaking. You were about to have your first solo in the Christmas play at school.

“Are you ready to go, lovie?” Your papa knocked at the door to your bedroom.

“No!” You yelled back to him.

He let himself in and frowned at you.

“What do you mean no? You look beautiful in your costume.”

You were in an all-white outfit with wings and a halo that your dad had helped you put together.

“Papa, what if I can’t do it?” You felt tears come to your eyes as you sat down on your bed.

“Oh no no no, no tears,” he sat down next to you on the bed and warped an arm around your shoulders. “Why do you think you can’t do it?”

“Because! I won’t sound like you!”

Your papa, Freddie, looked like his heart was breaking. He pulled you into his lap, adjusting it so that he wasn’t crushing your wings.

“Sweetheart, why do you think you have to sound like me?”

You shrugged, not looking at him. You’d heard the people in your class saying that since your papa was a good singer, you should be too. That your voice should sound just like his.

“Y/N, you know that Uncle Roger and Uncle Brian sing on our albums, right?”

You nodded, not really sure where he was going.

“Well they don’t sound anything like me, do they?”

You shook your head. You liked your uncle’s voices, but they sounded very different from your papa.

“But people love those songs too, don’t they? You don’t have to sound like me, you just have to do your best. Now, do you think you can do this?”

You looked up at your papa and smiled. He always knew how to make you smile.

“Are you two ready to go?” Your dad, Jim, poked his head in looked at the two of you.

“Yeah!” You jumped off your papa’s lap and ran into your dad’s arms. He picked you up and then you both looked to your papa. “Come on, Papa!”

Freddie laughed and stood up to walk over to you. The two of them kissed your cheeks and then the three of you made your way to the car.

You were standing in the middle of the church and the butterflies were in your stomach again. You were so nervous that you were going to sing something wrong or even worse, forget what you were supposed to sing at all. Or no noise would come out when you opened your mouth. Your butterflies turned to pure terror. You heard the music swell and looked out to the crowd. You met a familiar and warm pair of brown eyes.

Freddie smiled at you so you could see all of his teeth and it made you feel better. You knew that no matter what happened, your papa and your dad would still love you.

You belted your solo. Your music teacher grinned at you and you thought you heard your papa cry out.

After the performance, you ran into your papa’s arms. He picked you up and spun around, pressing kisses all around your face. His moustache tickled you slightly and you giggled.

“Papa!”

“Oh lovie, you did fantastic! Jim, Jim, dear, didn’t she do so well?”

Jim smiled and pressed a kiss to your hair. “Of course, she did! We knew she would!”

Your papa carried you out to the car, telling you the whole way that you had done such a good job. He secured you in the backseat before getting into the passenger seat as Jim got into the driver’s seat.

“Think you’re ready to be on Papa’s next album?” Jim met your eyes in the review mirror.

You laughed. “No, Daddy, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, I disagree. I think you could sing on the album. Maybe Uncle Roger can write a song in your register.”

“Freddie!” Your dad chastised, but you could hear him laughing. You didn’t really know what your papa meant, but it made you laugh too.

“What?!”

You laughed again and closed your eyes, leaning your head against the car door. You were suddenly very tired.

Nine Years Later

You giggled drunkenly as you tried to find your keys in your purse. Your boyfriend, Tyler, at the time was pressing kisses to your neck as you fumbled with the lock.

“Sure neither of your dads are home?” He not-so-whispered as you finally got the door unlocked and opened.

“Yes! My papa is in France and my dad went to visit him,” you said as you pulled him into a kiss in the darkness.

The two of you stumbled through the dark of your house, hoping to find your couch or a chair.

You barely noticed the lights flicking on, assuming it was one of the cats accidentally stepping on the switch.

“Excuse me, young man? Would you kindly remove yourself from my daughter’s mouth?” You heard from the corner of the room.

Tyler jumped away from you and you turned towards the voice. Sitting there was Freddie, his arms crossed, his face contorted in a way that you had only seen once and that was when you came home crying because one of your classmates had mad fun of you for having two fathers.

“M…mister Mercury,” your boyfriend stuttered out. You weren’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or nerves.

“Papa,” you took a step closer to him. “I…I thought you were France with the band and Dad.”

Your papa’s face changed into a sickly sweet smile. “Oh we were, darling, but then we thought that we’d surprise you by coming home a little early. Clearly we were in for a surprise of our own when we found you not here.”

“I…I thought I’d told you that Frankie was throwing a party since we ended term a…and we um…we, that’s Tyler and I, were just getting home and I…I…” you struggled trying to find a good excuse. The alcohol swirling in your brain wasn’t helping.

“Tyler,” Freddie stood up and glared him down. “I will show you to our guest room. In the morning, my husband will drive you home and explain to your parents what happened. Is that understood?”

Tyler cleared his throat and nodded.

“And Y/N, please go up to your room and wait for me.”

You didn’t meet anybody’s eye as you walked past them and up the stairs to your room. You sat on your bed and prayed that whatever was happening to Tyler was at least going to be easy to explain to the detectives that came around asking questions.

You were staring at your bedroom wall, willing the alcohol to go away so you could actually talk to your papa when he came in.

You weren’t sure how much time later, but Freddie finally walked through the door. You met his eyes for a moment but saw so much disappointment there you looked to the floor.

“Y/N, look at me.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and then looked up at him.

“Do you know how incredibly worried your dad and I were when we arrived home and you weren’t here? We nearly called the police!”

“I could’ve sworn that I told you,” you replied in a small voice.

“I believe what you said was that there was going to be small get together at Frankie’s and that you were going to be home before midnight. So, when we got home, after midnight and you weren’t home, we panicked.” He came around and sat next to you on the bed. “We had no idea where you were or if something had happened to you. And then you come home at nearly three, drunk, with your boyfriend.”

“We didn’t drive if that helps,” your voice was still sheepish.

“Oh great, at least you didn’t do that,” Freddie’s voice was sarcastic.

“I…we just…I…didn’t think you’d be home,” you finally admitted.

“I know that, dear, but that doesn’t matter. We trusted you to be home by yourself and look what that got us. Also, the last time I checked, you weren’t eighteen.”

“I…I’m close though,” you tried. “And you and dad have let me drink wine.” That was your last ditch attempt to get you out of some trouble.

“Under our supervision and under our roof,” Freddie’s tone was hard and commanding. “You know that we would never allow you to drink otherwise.”

“I…” you were suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. “Oh…” you ran to the ensuite bathroom and threw up on the toilet.

You felt a hand on your back, rubbing up and down.

“We’ll finish this discussion in the morning, with your dad. Understand?”

You nodded, but didn’t pick your head up out of the toilet. You felt your papa press his lips to your head and then heard him walk out. You waited a few more minutes with nothing else coming up before you got up and brushed your teeth.

You walked out of the bathroom and saw a pair of pajamas on your bed and a large glass of water on your nightstand with a note that said:

‘Drink this. Talk in the morning. Love you. -Papa’

Two Years Later

You looked around your bedroom and sighed. It looked so…empty. How had you gotten everything packed up already? Most of the things were already in your flat in Edinburgh. You only had a few boxes left that you were going to pack into your car before you left.

You sat down on your bed, next to Oscar. You scratched his orange head and he leaned into your touch, purring.

“Don’t tell the rest, but I’m going to miss you the most.”

“Does that include me?”

You looked up at your papa, standing in the doorway just like he had so many times before.

“Of course it does.”

“Fair enough,” Freddie chuckled as he walked in and sat on your bed next to you. He glanced around your bedroom, noting how empty it was now. “You know, they have great universities here in London.”

“I know, but I…” you struggled to find the words. How did you tell him that you wanted to get out from his shadow a bit? Granted, Edinburgh wasn’t that far away and practically everybody in the world knew who Freddie Mercury was and there had been pictures of you in the magazines and papers, but it was still far enough away that you could be your own person. (He did insist on you having your own flat and not in a dorm though.)

He grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. Neither of you said anything for a few moments, but you felt tears come to your eyes.

“You know, the day you were born, I told your dad this day would come. And he said I shouldn’t worry about it yet because the day was so far off. Seems like he and I had that conversation just yesterday and now…here we are.”

You laughed through your nose and wiped your eyes a bit.

“I’ll just be in Edinburgh. I could’ve gone to Los Angeles or New York. You all could visit when you’re in the country.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t have allowed it. You’re lucky I’m letting you go to Scotland. Also, completely unrelated, keep an eye out for homes for sale near your flat.”

You rested your head on his shoulder and he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“We’re going to miss you so much, lovie.”

“I know, Papa. I’m going to miss you all, too. But you all can come visit.”

“Your uncles too?”

“Obviously. You know I’m taking an astronomy course just for Uncle Brian.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few more moments before Jim walked in and smiled at the two of you. He walked over and gently moved Oscar so he could sit on your other side. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“We should probably get going if we’re going to get to Edinburgh before it gets dark.”

“Jim, you’ve lied to me.”

“Have I?”

“You told me this day was far off.”

“I told you that almost nineteen years ago. It was far off at that point.”

You felt your dad squeeze your shoulder, knowing you both were laughing at your papa’s dramatics.

The three of you sat for a few moments in silence.

You remembered sitting just like this countless times throughout your life. The first time you came home from school and some of the kids had made fun of you for having two dads. When your first love had broken your heart (and you’d gotten sent home from school because you may have ‘accidentally’ broken the windshield of his car). When your papa was leaving for a tour for half a year. When you’d gotten your acceptance letter from Edinburgh.

“As much as I would love to not make this drive, we do need to get going,” Jim finally sighed and stood up, grabbing a box before he walked out.

“As much as I hate to say it, he’s right.”

“I know,” you responded.

The two of you stood up and grabbed the last of your boxes.

“Jim, dear, I think I’ll ride with Y/N, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.”

Your small caravan took off. You drove your car and your papa fiddled with the radio.

“They don’t play any good music on the radio anymore,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard one of Uncle Roger’s songs yesterday,” you told him.

“Like I said,” he joked, finally picking a station.

As you drove, you and your papa caught up since you’d barely seen each other over the summer since you were working to save some money (on your insistence) and he was busy writing and recording. he two of you talked about the classes that you would be taking that semester and the next Queen album that was scheduled to come out in the summer and then tour.

As you drove through the English countryside, you noticed Freddie got quiet.

“Are you okay, Papa?”

He sighed dramatically. “I think I will be. I’m just nervous about leaving you in Scotland by yourself.”

“Well, I am too,” you admitted.

“Why are you nervous?” He looked at you like you were crazy.

“I…I mean, what if I don’t make any friends? What if nobody ends up liking me in any of my classes?”

You couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of anxiety that was hitting you now that you were talking about it. What if all that was true? Or what if you thought that you’d made true friends, but they only liked you because you had a famous father? You’d been burned by people for that before, but this time you wouldn’t have a support system around you to help you get through it.

“Oh, darling, there’s no need to be nervous. I know for a fact you can take care of yourself.”

“I know but…”

“But nothing. You are the most intelligent, kind, caring individual I’ve ever met. You can make friends anywhere and everywhere. You got that all from your dad. But, you know you could always transfer back to London.”

The two of you chuckled.

“Thanks, Papa,” you smiled.

It did make you feel better hearing that, even if it came from one of your parents.

“Well, I think we’d better be heading home,” Jim announced after breakfast the next morning.

The two of them had spent the night so that Jim didn’t have to make the whole drive by himself in one day. The three of you had unpacked your belongings and put your flat together the night before.

“Y/N, are you sure there isn’t anything else you need from us?”

“I’m sure, Papa,” you stood up and started clearing the table.

“Well, then there isn’t any reason for us to stick around then, is there?” Freddie frowned over at Jim.

“Freddie, darling, I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work. We need to let Y/N be.”

“Fine,” Freddie stood up and you walked him and Jim to the door.

“Dad,” you gave him a hug and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Papa,” you gave him a hug and he kissed your forehead.

“Y/N,” you papa took your hands in his. “We are so proud of you already, but we know you are going to make us even more proud. And no matter what, we will always love you and be proud of you.”

You felt tears come to your eyes at that.

“Thanks, Papa,” you whispered back, not trusting your voice.

He pressed one more kiss to your cheek and then Jim did as well before the two of them left. You waited a few moments before you shut the door and sat down on the couch.

You looked around your living room, waiting for the sensation to hit you that you were on your own.

But you knew that you really weren’t. You weren’t living with anybody, but you weren’t alone. You may have been far from home, but you knew that no matter what happened, you’d always have your fathers on your side.

The next day, you came home after your classes and started to get some dinner ready. You heard your phone ringing and quickly answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hello, lovie, how were your first day of classes?”

#freddie mercury #freddie mercury x jim hutton #daughter!reader #freddie mercury imagine #freddie mercury fan fic #freddie mercury fanfic #freddie mercury fluff #Queen #rami malek #bohemian rhapsody #queen fanfiction #quuen fanfic #krissys writings

100 notes · View notes